


Against All Odds

by Holde_Maid



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Challenge Response, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-08-25
Updated: 2005-08-25
Packaged: 2020-10-25 13:17:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 14,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20724821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Holde_Maid/pseuds/Holde_Maid
Summary: Suppose you were dropped into the Highlander world. Being there would change some things - and your perception.





	1. REALITY CRUMBLING

**Author's Note:**

> This is my response to Rosie’s Challenge, which I found at Seventh Dimension’s Dreambook (http://books.dreambook.com/fountaam/siteindex.html), issued on Thursday, October 4th 2001 - 05:35:51 PM
> 
> The Challenge:  
"I've seen lots of silly fanfics in which a girl gets sucked into a parallel universe where her favorite TV show is real. My challenge? Write a *serious* story using this gimmick. Have the girl know everything that's happened up to the point where she gets sucked in--and it can be anywhere in the series that you like--but after that events begin to diverge. Please put in lots of action, angst, Duncan, and Richie. Keep it PG-13 or lower and no slash. Thanks! And tell me when you're done, will ya?"
> 
> Well, I did try to respond, but I have no idea whether or not the response reached her.
> 
> I fear the story is so far unbetaed.

##  Prologue

It happened in broad day-light, in her very own living-room. You'd expect this sort of thing to surprise you in the middle of a lonely dense wood or in a foggy street at midnight…

But let's start at the beginning.

##  Chapter 1: Reality Crumbling

Karen, an obese ash-blond physics student at Marina College, was used to having problems with her eyes after sitting around too much. Famous among the students for her scathing wit, she was the brainy sort, and used to all kinds of acrobatics where thought and imagination were concerned. As for her body, however, she spared as little time for sports as possible. Her doctor said her eye problems meant the blood in her eyes didn't circulate properly because of her lack of work-out. Well, something like that. He unimaginatively called the phenomenon “tunnel vision”. But to her mind this description really did not fit the case.

When Karen’s blood pressure got too low – and it often did during this period –, some sort of blind spot would usually appear near the centre of her vision. It looked as if reality were crumbling in one place, collapsing into its hollow inside. Being a physics student with lots of imagination, she let this sometimes entice her to daydream about the “shape” of reality, of our universe, about wormholes and parallel universes, …

However, most of the time, it merely got on her nerves.

Because, normally this happened when she was sitting in front of the TV, watching one of her favourite shows.

\-----------

That one particular time, it was exactly the same as always.

At first, anyway, because she was watching TV. In fact, she was celebrating a particularly good review she had gotten from her professor. As usual that blurry spot turned up near the centre of her vision, where it was as inconvenient as possible. And of _COURSE_ it blotted out most of Duncan MacLeod's face. MacLeod was the Immortal hero of the series “Highlander”, and Karen's dream of a man.

Frustrated, Karen cursed under her breath and tried to somehow look “around” the impairment. Well, she didn't have to see everything, she told herself, as she knew the episode by heart. MacLeod was going to fight and take the bad Immortal's head in about a minute, as the Rules of the Highlander universe demanded of him, right? Subsequently he would receive the other's essence during the “Quickening”. Karen adored those miniature storms, which surely were a feast for the special-effects guys, the post-produ...

_Oops, no! Dang it all!_ He wasn't going to take any heads this time. The “bad guy” Kirin (or John Cage, as whom Duncan had used to know him) would turn out to be a thoroughly reformed Immortal. She had thought of the wrong episode – dash it, since when did she mix up plots like that??? It had to be because she couldn't really see the other Immortal. _Blasted blur!_

The blotch in her vision interfered incessantly with her enjoyment of the show. It even seemed to be growing. At first the growth had been almost imperceptible, but now it became faster… How she hated having to go away during such an emotional scene! Duncan was about to try and take Kirin's head, doubt and conviction playing on his features. He looked terribly attractive when he wore that strict gaze. And then…

_Oh, dash it! _There was nothing for it. If she wanted to see the rest properly, she'd have to go fetch herself a big glass of water, an aspirin and get her circulation going again. And she'd better be quick about it. Impatiently she got up.

But as soon as she was standing she realised that she was tumbling. _Oh great!_ Karen thought, _now I'm gonna pass out with getting up too fast… Ugh!_

It was then that it dawned on her that something really weird was going on. Because in fact, she was not dizzy at all, and in front of her eyes reality _WAS_ collapsing, she was sliding into a hollow that couldn't possibly be where it was, drawn into a greyish nothingness…


	2. AND SUDDENLY REALITY FELL APART

PLOP!

Karen felt like she was being turned into minced meat … the popping sound in her ears suggested differences in atmospheric pressure, she idly mused … her head was swimming … she could see, but nothing she saw made sense or formed a definite shape… it all was happening so quick … _what…?_

PLOP!

Suddenly collapsing became possible again, and she did so. To be exact, she felt as if dropped flat on her face from a height. Luckily, she fell on something soft and moist… What was that? Dirty leaves on stamped soil? What had happened to her living room? And…

When Karen looked up, her eyes grew wide and her thoughts still.

Duncan MacLeod himself, in the flesh – dark-haired, tall, muscular, Immortal – was nearing in long strides, his expression stern, his eyes cold with fury. Familiar as they were, the hooded off-white cotton sweater and the pair of jeans beneath the black duster coat did nothing to reassure her. Reaching her, MacLeod placed his dragon-head katana's sharp edge right beneath her chin.

This was too much.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“Who are you?”

The plump blonde didn't answer. Indeed, who was she? She had come out of the blue. When he and Cage had entered this secluded backyard belonging to a derelict house, there had been not a soul within sight.

Most likely she had followed them from Cage’s ashram, where Duncan had summoned him to face his guilt, and trial by combat. Duncan couldn’t even begin to count those Cage had killed or caused to get killed for his own pecuniary benefit. But the men, women and children in the ashram knew only one thing about Cage – or John Kirin, as they called him: They believed he was doing good, had died saving one of them and had come back to life. They believed in him with such fervour they’d do anything for him.

And here Duncan was, faced with one of those believers, who had probably just seen him shout at Cage, backhand him and threaten him with a sword. No wonder Cage had done nothing about it – he had known somebody would come to his rescue!

MacLeod kept the sword’s blade so close to the blonde woman’s neck that she’d touch it if she swallowed. His eyes strayed from her just enough to scan the area. There was no hiding place near enough. She had to have jumped over the wall. True, the young woman looked frightened and not exactly fit, but since she’d managed that, he’d better be careful. Besides, with a fanatic believer in “Kirin”, there was no knowing what she might try. Great Scott, he had enough of Cage’s mortal little friends and the games he was obviously playing!

“Up,” he growled when she remained silent.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Blindly Karen tried to get up. Something was wrong with her left knee. It ached badly as she knelt and felt as though it might give if she used it. It must have been injured when she had hit the ground. Uncertainly she stood on one leg.

“I think she is hurt,” came a hesitant voice from behind MacLeod. Kirin had still been kneeling and was now slowly getting up.

MacLeod ignored him. If anything, he only looked angrier and more distrustful than before. He reached for her hand, while she felt his suspicious gaze rest on her. “Who are you?!”

With the blade so frighteningly close to her neck, she dared not respond. The katana was a danger more real than any she had ever faced. Her mind was blank with fear; even her witty remarks had left her. She could only think of what might happen if she opened her mouth and her throat touched the sharp blade…

MacLeod put his hand over her wrist from above and curled it up so he had it in a lever hold. Karen grimaced, but she dared not complain. The tall, well-built Immortal did not give her the impression he would tolerate any resistance. She knew only too well he could break her arm with a flick of his wrist. No, she didn't need the pain that immobilised her arm up to her shoulder to remind her of his combat skills.

She looked up at the Highlander. His features were as well-known to her as their expression. His teeth set, he was cagily lifting her arm, while he kept his katana in place as a grisly threat. There was no mercy whatsoever in his eyes. This dark warrior was a stranger to her. This was not the man she had observed and admired in so many “Highlander” episodes. At the moment he was but a nightmarish menace, nothing more.

He tried to look at the inside of her wrist, but when he turned it around so he could see, she lost her balance and fell over with a pained squeal. Her knee _HURT_!

As she had fallen, she had not been aware of the metal near her throat being removed. She only noticed the sting of sweat trickling into the tiny wound where the tip of the blade had nicked her chin. Sitting up, she mumbled shakily, “No, don't worry, I'm not a Watcher.”

“You're not what?” This time the baritone voice sounded alarmed rather than angry, but all the same the blade returned to her neck with horrifying speed. The blow was pulled expertly at an only marginally greater distance from her neck than before.

Karen swallowed hard. This, of course, had been one of the worst things she could have said. Your average citizen in MacLeod’s world was not supposed to know what a Watcher was. One wasn’t supposed to know they were a secret society recording the history of the Immortals. Nor what Immortals were, for that matter. – Now, how could she retract? “I said…” She thought quickly. “I di’n't mean to watch ya.”

His voice was so low with icy wrath that she could barely catch the words, “That is not what you said. Who _ARE_ you?”

By his expression, she had to speak up and risk getting cut again, or he’d kill her on the spot! “I'm Karen.”

“Karen,” he repeated dryly. No, of course he wouldn’t kill her. It had been stupid to even think so. Not MacLeod. Not unless she posed an immediate threat. Thank goodness for his sense of honour!

“Karen Kowalski,” she amended. When he continued to look down at her impatiently she added, “I'm a Marina student.”

“As in Marina University?”

“Marina College[1], Adelphi University.” she corrected, surprised that he hadn't heard of it.

“There is no Adelphi University in Seacouver.”

Oh, so that was why he hadn't recognised the well-known institute. “I know. It's in New York.” Hold it! Just how far away was Seacouver again? “Honestly, I don't know how I got here. One minute I'm at home,” her voice began to rise to a hysteric pitch, “the next minute I'm at the other end of the continent!” She took a deep breath and spoke more slowly, forcing herself to sound collected and a little more reasonable. “Now, I _KNOW_ that's impossible. Don't ask me how. All I know is I'm here.”

The tall dark-haired man standing above her kept his posture guarded. He lowered his sword arm a little, however, and introduced himself. “I'm Duncan MacLeod.”

She looked up at him, and tried to think of a reply that would be polite, but not a lie. “Nice to meet you” would have sounded rather out of place, right now.

Suddenly a movement behind him caught her eye. “Mathew!” she hissed. The bewildered man, who, as she knew, had watched what had gone on between MacLeod and Kirin, was just slipping into concealment behind a large blue plastic sheet again.

_He’s been hiding there all along._ It was this reflection that made her memory kick in and a strangely cold-blooded determination settle on her. Here, at least, was something she could do. MacLeod wouldn’t let her move, but she could use her mouth. And perhaps save a life.

Actually, Karen had never liked John Kirin. He was by no means a hunk. His face was covered in scars, as if at one time it had been seriously burned. Besides, he had the look and the posture of an oldish man: The waist of his trousers was too high up, he moved slowly, his blond hair was greying, ... And finally, she had always thought him kind of hypocritical, since she liked Duncan “Mac” MacLeod so much better.

But now everything was different. MacLeod suddenly seemed dangerous, even murderous, while Kirin's gentle kindness shone through his disfigured features. All of a sudden, _HE_ was the man she would have liked to run to. Only she dared not move.

So she merely addressed Kirin: “You've got to stop Mathew, you know. If you can.”

“But he'd never do anything vio…!”

She shook her head at Kirin's denial. “He will if you don't stop him.”

The ugly Immortal looked into her eyes a moment longer, then suddenly turned on his heel and called for Mathew.

MacLeod's eyes followed Kirin's and caught sight of Mathew stepping out into the little courtyard. “What is this about?!” he exploded, looking back and forth between herself and the slim man trying to break away from Kirin. The oldish-looking Immortal held him back and tried to talk him out of his aggressive stance.

Karen’s collected calm was already fading. What was she to do? Could she tell MacLeod anything she knew? If she did, he'd think she was a spy of sorts, wouldn't he? He'd think she was a Watcher. Or Bad Kirin's little helper. Or a madwoman, or a reporter, or a stalker … it didn't make much of a difference. Either was dangerous.

No, she would have to find something else to say. “Mathew has been hiding there.”

She had meant to say that the man was dangerous, but suddenly she caught the mortal's look and shut her mouth. To get on the wrong side of Duncan MacLeod was one thing, but getting on the wrong side of Mathew was another matter. He did not have the sense of honour MacLeod had. In fact, he didn’t have much sense at all. He had a mixed-up mind at best. He was, in brief, quite mad, and quite murderous in his own right, even with Kirin’s efforts soothing him.

“You are coming with me,” MacLeod announced out of the blue. Karen was in no state to argue and agreed by way of a tired, hopeless shrug. Actually, she was rather happy to escape Mathew’s presence, even if that meant facing MacLeod’s. Though still grim, the tall Immortal at least re-sheathed his katana and hid it in his black duster coat.

Karen sighed. She couldn’t postpone it any further: it was time to get up. She wasn't sure if she could trust her left leg; Her knee had hurt infernally when she had fallen. She put her weight on it only very slowly, despite MacLeod’s impatient gaze.

At first it seemed alright, but as soon as she straightened the joint fully, she knew it was not. She limped after MacLeod's forbidding back, leaving Kirin and Mathew behind. After all, what else could she do?

Karen was feeling a little giddy when Duncan MacLeod's black Thunderbird came to a halt in the parking lot of a closed pub. “Joe's Bar” – the neon sign was familiar to her, of course, but in reality it looked a lot shabbier and more outdated than on TV. MacLeod pushed open the door and waited for Karen to pass through.

She was thankful for the solid support of the railings, as he followed her down the stairs. Her knee felt like an over-stuffed pillow by now, the stretched skin hurt each time she bent it. _The whole joint must have swollen considerably_, she thought. _Never mind! _she scolded herself, _Come on, keep going. Take the next step_. _Don’t stop. And another._

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

[1] To my knowledge, there's no Marina College. Didn't want any College to get blamed for any physics-related or university-related mistakes I'm gonna make in this story. ;-)


	3. IN SEASON, YET ALL WRONG!

When the door opened, Joe Dawson looked up and set down his guitar. It was not unusual that Duncan MacLeod turned up in his bar with a woman. Not even with a young one who was obviously in distress. But the way the chubby blonde was coming down the stairs suggested a kind of distress that WAS unusual for Mac’s ladies. She was white as a sheet and seemed concentrated on getting down the steps as quickly and with as little suffering as possible. She hadn’t even noticed him yet. And what was more, she and Mac did not appear to be on any too friendly terms.

What was the matter with Mac? Sure, she wasn’t one of his usual pretty ladies, but why did he look just about ready to give the young woman in front of him a shove?

Joe came rushing to meet them lest she might fall. “Are you okay?” He gazed at her sympathetically.

The stranger shook her head with gritted teeth. No, she looked definitely _NOT_ okay. In fact, she looked on the verge of bursting into tears. What the heck was up?!

“You know her?” his immortal friend asked suspiciously.

“No, but I know that look,” Joe replied, with a gaze at the girl wondering yet again what she could have done to bring on such a reaction from Mac. “She's in pain.”

Five minutes later, a salt-and-pepper and a dark-brown head were bent over a swollen knee. The swelling even showed despite the layer of fat that covered her leg. “That doesn't look so good,” Joe commented.

“No,” his tall friend agreed. “Can you spare some ice for this?” When Joe returned with a small bucket of ice-chips, Mac remarked lightly, “At least it’s the final proof she's mortal.”

Joe, who had been packing her knee with a thick ice-filled towel looked askance at him. “Excuse me?” Had Mac gone out of his mind?

“She knows something. Big time. She even mentioned the Watchers.”

_Oh, no! Not another!_

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

_Oh, no. Not another._ Karen was unwittingly echoing Dawson’s sentiment, if for a very different reason: A few moments ago she had at last gotten an understanding look from someone she had always liked; what was more, from one of the series' regulars, Duncan’s friend and Watcher.

And now that understanding was gone. Here was yet another man regarding her with eyes full of mistrust. _Please, not another._

Dawson's gaze had grown darker and more probing. He quickly checked her wrist, but of course found no Watcher tattoo. He looked into her eyes. “What can you tell me about that?”

Neither of them trusted her, and nothing she could say would be convincing. So she might as well try the truth, mightn’t she? Thank goodness for that, at least! “There's no chance in hell you'll believe me.” Well, that part _WAS_ true. Still, what did she have to lose? She abhorred lying, anyway.

Training to become a teacher, she at least had some idea of how to put this. “Does the term ‘parallel universe' mean anything to you?”

Dawson shook his head, while MacLeod merely raised an eyebrow.

In her best teacher's voice she began to explain, “You know what the Universe looks like: heaps and heaps of largely disconnected stars, planets, debris, etc., right?”

Dawson nodded tentatively, while Duncan MacLeod just kept watching her suspiciously.

“Now try and imagine the same thing on an even larger scale: Replace each planet with a whole universe. Different versions of what the universe could be like. You following?”

“What makes you think you're supposed to be in a different one than we are?” MacLeod cut in.

Well, that was the difficult part. “Because in mine…” _Oh, what the heck!_ She had to risk it and stick to the truth. “In mine you're fiction. Both of you.”

MacLeod's eyes narrowed, Dawson's widened. But as different as their physical reaction was, they seemed to share the same sentiment: they were perplexed beyond words.

Being the older one with his 400-plus years of age, MacLeod was first to recover. “You're kidding, aren't you.”

As the meaning of his words sank in, tears welled up in her eyes. “By Jove, I wish I were.” She met MacLeod's eye defiantly. “I wish I were.”

“What, exactly, do you know?”

“All six seasons.”

“Seasons?” Dawson practically gaped.

“Right now you're in season 3.” The man didn't look any more enlightened than before. “It's a TV series. It's finished now, but they still have re-runs. I know most episodes by heart.” She hesitated. Everything seemed so very different now, in a real-life close-up. “I guess I know everything and nothing.”

“Then tell me what happens next,” MacLeod demanded.

“In the series…” She swallowed, as realisation washed over her chillingly. “There's this little pest of a reporter. Mathew killed him. That's happened already. He's dead, isn't he? The reporter? …”

At MacLeod’s nod she drew a deep breath. Now, the reporter’s death was a little too close for comfort. She couldn’t afford stopping to think about it – two suspicious men were waiting for her to continue… So what happened in the series? “You were going to judge Kirin. Or Cage. And he would have offered no resistance, the one thing that could stop you. So you let him go and come here. And you…” – she looked up at Dawson – “you say you can't see how a few good deeds begin to cover his tab. And then you go home,” she pursued, turning back to MacLeod, “and there is Mathew again. But…” She was at a loss for words at how wrong things were now. She just shook her head.

MacLeod and Dawson looked at each other. They appeared to concur on something, only she couldn't tap into what they were obviously sharing. It just wasn't like watching them on TV, where your knee wasn't feeling sickly to the touch and where you had all the time in the world to ponder their expressions… She felt alone, weak and awfully exposed.

MacLeod rose. “I'll take you to the hospital.”

Dawson looked every bit as surprised as Karen herself felt.

Unexpectedly, strong arms lifted her. Only a few hours ago, this had been a moment she’d dream of, but now the romantic potential of the situation did not even enter her mind.

Karen yelped when her knee was bent in the process. Ice-chips fell onto the floor. MacLeod didn't stop lifting her – didn't he know he was hurting her, or did he just not care? There was nothing for it, she had to hold on to him to relieve the pain at least a little. She put her arms around the neck of the Highlander, slipping her hands underneath his curly dark-brown hair. And wished she were at home.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

In the car, Duncan was mulling the situation over. First of all he needed to know if this strange woman was faking her injury or not. An x-ray would clear that up alright. If she was faking it, he’d dump her somewhere, and find out what she was up to. That option was simple enough. But what if the injury was real? Didn’t make her any more innocent, did it?

Since it made her less dangerous, however, he not only took this Karen to a hospital, but even gave the nurse at the check-in his credit-card. His covering the expenses gave him at least a measure of control.

“The lady has had a nasty fall”, he explained curtly.

Soon they were taken to a row of seats. “Please wait here.” They heard that sentence several times that evening, as the knee was x-rayed stretched and bent, felt, stabbed with a puncture needle, examined again. The puncture actually felt oddly relieving, Karen told the doctor.

The doctor, a quite young woman, had told them earlier that she was still a trainee, so even when she was finished, they had to wait for her supervising doctor for a final diagnose. They waited and waited. Eventually the young doctor went out to find her supervisor. While she was gone, the injured blonde let loose a sarcastic remark about things that could go wrong in the course of hands-on training in hospitals. Her wit, Duncan mused, spoke not only of humour, but also intelligence. He had better stay very wary of her.

Besides that he noted that she had used a quaint old-fashioned expression… Well, that could be chance.

Ten minutes, and the trainee doctor still hadn’t arrived. They waited in silence.

After a while, Karen began to prod her knee. Then she punched it, lightly. Then harder, hissing with the pain of it. What was she doing this for? Perhaps she was trying to prove the injury was real. No, that was needless by now, since the x-rays had already ascertained as much. What, then, could drive one to inflict pain on oneself?

MacLeod caught her arm before she could punch it again. “What's the matter?”

“I'm sorry. I …” She shrugged.

When he looked again, her gaze had grown into a vacant stare. After a while she ventured, “This is so weird. You and Joe and Kirin and... It's all wrong.” Her voice was curiously devoid of emotion. Could she be in shock? “I shouldn't be sitting here; I should be watching TV, hundreds of miles away from here.”

Duncan retorted with some warmth, “That's something we agree on.”

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


	4. ENTER ANOTHER CHARACTER

At last the supervising doctor opened the door to the little room where MacLeod and Karen had been told to wait. She was tall, dark-haired and so thin she looked terribly vulnerable. Was that a patch of freckles on her nose? Karen knew her, but she had never consciously noticed the freckles before. But then, her eyes had usually rested elsewhere.

“Anne!” MacLeod jumped up from his seat, his face lighting up with affection at the sight of his current girl-friend.

“Duncan!” Dr. Anne Lindsey responded fondly, her tone surprised. Dr. Anne wasn’t Karen’s favourite among the Highlander’s lady friends, but she liked her at lot. Compassion, professional attitude and engagement, honesty… many of her traits where part of what Karen hoped to sculpt her own personality into.

Dr. Anne and the Immortal hugged. Karen gasped, for this was her first glimpse of the caring, gentle Duncan MacLeod that she knew from the series. Luckily her gasp went unnoticed. If you thought about it, it could easily have been misinterpreted… _Oh, dear!_

“Who's your injured friend?” Anne inquired a moment later.

Too bad. Now Karen felt obliged to lie, after all. “Mr. … ah … MacLeod found me … after I had a nasty fall”, she repeated his earlier words. Well, that hadn't quite been a lie. _What a relief!_ Then she realised she hadn't answered the question. “I'm Karen.” She extended her hand and Dr. Lindsey shook it.

“Nice to meet you, Karen”, Dr. Anne smiled. It was the professional smile she probably gave all her patients, but it was comforting, all the same. “Now let's see what you've got, Ellen,” she addressed the young doctor who had returned in her wake.

Ellen showed them the x-rays and explained them. Leastways, she tried. Karen caught a few disconnected words that sounded kind of familiar – like “meniscus”, something “lateralis” and “punctured” – but she couldn't make head or tail of the rest. Strangely, she didn’t care. After a few sentences that hardly held any English words, MacLeod shared a look with Anne.

“The gist of it is,” Dr. Lindsey summed up, “that you've been very lucky. Your knee hadn't been in perfect shape to start with, but there's no serious damage. The swelling will have to be punctured a couple of times, and you should continue cooling the knee till the late evening, just to be on the safe side. If you're lucky, that's all there is to it.”

Until now, Karen had felt numb, but now emotion was breaking through, threatening to come crashing down on her. She was frightened. “If I'm lucky?” Karen blurted out in alarm. She felt strongly that so far it had _NOT_ been her lucky day.

“Listen, don't worry. You'll be fine,” the slim doctor immediately tried to calm her.

Karen was too exhausted to be polite enough to face her. Why did this have to happen to her? _Why, why, why?_ _And HOW?_ Her mind recoiled, veering away from the abyss that question would open up. Her head in her hands, Karen was almost sobbing. “What if I'm not?” When she blinked, she saw a bright tear fall down on the floor beneath her. _How embarrassing!_

A hand touched her back softly. “Then the knee needs to be cleaned by an operation. It's a routine procedure, nothing to worry about. But very likely it won't be needed.”

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Ellen was looking at Anne Lindsey questioningly, holding up the puncture needle. Anne curtly nodded at her. What a bother those trainees sometimes were! They always needed attention and approval. At the same she could remember what it was like to be in Ellen’s position. Although trying hard, you were always reminded of how much there was out there that you knew nothing about… Ellen, too, would learn.

She returned her attention to Duncan’s unfortunate friend, who was apparently fighting tears. “Look, I don't even know what I'm doing here,” the girl said. “I should be at home, not in Seacouver. I … I…” It was at this point that the girl finally lost the fight and started crying like a child.

For a while, Anne kept patting her back, but at length she drew MacLeod aside, while Ellen set to work. Karen could hear her ask: “Duncan, did that fall have any other effect on her, do you know?”

He hesitated. “I'm not sure,” he doubtfully answered at last. Very likely he had paid more attention to the physical signs of an injury. Most people did. “She's said a few odd things…” Hmmm, that could mean a number of things.

“Any loss of memory?”

“I don't know. Hard to tell with a complete stranger.” He cleared his throat thoughtfully. “But it could explain why she says she has no idea how she got here.” He hesitated again and then added, “Unless she meant that figuratively.” So nothing definite, after all.

His tone changed abruptly as he turned. “Listen, Karen, have you got any place to stay at?”

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

An intense dread of having to sleep on the streets washed over her, followed by a wave of fear of being made to stay at MacLeod's place. Of course, telling the truth was the rational thing to do. No matter how she shied away from him now, Duncan MacLeod had morals and integrity. She was safe with him.

And then realisation hit her. “What about Mathew?”

“Who?” Dr. Anne asked, obviously puzzled.

Karen quickly thought back. Had the doctor met Mathew? Oh, yes, of course! She had seen him when Kirin died after having saved Mathew's mortal life for the price of being run over by a car – and then revived. And she had met him at Kirin's ashram.

So what could she say? Well, best act as though she knew the guy from the ashram. “Mathew. John Kirin's assistant. The guy that's a little off his rocker, if you know him.”

Duncan slowly said, “ He may have caused Miss Kowalski's fall.” His eyes had never left Karen.

Though she was sorry about lying, Karen made a decision and met his gaze. “That's right. He may.” No, she couldn’t accuse a stranger like that. It wasn’t fair. Not if Kirin could stop him from turning violent. Couldn’t she do better? “He was there, at any rate. I don't really know how it all happened.” _Nor how I got here_, she wanted to add, but that would have incurred too many questions from Dr. Anne, along with a diagnosis in the vein of “brain trauma”.

“Look, why don't you stay here for the night?” the doctor proposed.

Karen squirmed. Had she said too much already? “That isn't absolutely necessary, is it? Your…” Her eyes shot back and forth between Anne and Duncan. Where they an item in this episode? She thought so, but she couldn't afford to err much here. “Your friend kindly offered to pay my bill,” she finished. “It wouldn't be fair.”

“Then where are you going to sleep tonight?” Dr. Lindsay pursued.

“Don't worry, Ma'am. I can stay awake for a night – it's not as if I hadn't done that before. I've learned a couple of nights away by now. I'll thumb my way home tomorrow, no problem.” She could see Anne didn't like the idea one bit. Where else could one claim to stay? “Or maybe I'll go over to Kirin's ashram.”

“No,” MacLeod cut in decisively. “I'll find someplace for you.” When Karen hesitated, he leaned forward to add: “You know why.”

“Mathew again,” she concluded, hoping that he _WAS_ the reason.

The young doctor at work at her knee finished installing a new pack of ice-chips around it. So far she had completely ignored everything around her. Now she looked up, seeking Dr. Anne's gaze. Her superior nodded approvingly, and Ellen left with a smile and a wave to Karen. As she went through the door, Karen made an acid note to self not to wait again for a devastating day like this before she appreciated the friendly caring offered in hospitals.

“Yes, that, too,” Duncan meanwhile answered her conclusion.

She sighed. “Okay. If you insist.” She turned to Anne. “Thank you for your caring, Ma'am.”

Dr. Anne smiled her cute deprecating smile. “I'm just doing my job.”

“Between you and me” – Karen looked the slim doctor squarely in the eye – “that is complete bull's dung. You do way more than your job.” She would have loved to mention the work Dr. Anne put into gathering donations for the children's ward and the like, but she dared not. The less said, the less given away. She could only put as much warmth into her voice as she could muster. “Thank you.”

Anne walked them to the staircase, impressing on them that she was to be called if there were any changes for the worse or any more tangible signs of memory loss. _What a sweet woman!_

As they said good-bye, Duncan kissed Anne's hand. “We'll talk tomorrow.” Then he took Karen's arm – perhaps a little more gently than earlier – and led her into the elevator.

After the door had closed, Karen inquired tiredly, “What now?”

“We'll see,” he responded curtly.

The elevator stopped, other people entered. Karen looked into their faces. Strangers. She could have met them anywhere without remembering. Idly she wondered if casting agencies kept a file for nondescript people like these. In the usual awkward silence everybody waited as the door closed and the lift moved on. Soon they arrived on the ground-floor.

Duncan's fingers closed around her arm once more, obviously to help her along as much as to stay in control of her. Karen sighed. A little while ago she would have been thrilled to feel his touch, but now… She had grown calmer around him, but she still didn't feel really at ease.

They got to the car. The elegant black T-bird he drove in Seacouver. He opened the door on the passenger side, helped her climb in, closed it. MacLeod didn't get into the car himself, but leaned against her door. He took out something from a pocket and did something with it. When he raised it she caught a glimpse of the small device: a cell-phone.

She couldn't hear his voice well through the door, and since he was facing away from her, an attempt at lip-reading was out of the question, too. Was he calling Richie?

Growing tired of watching the back of his coat, she closed her eyes and leaned her head back. Ah, some rest at last. The seat was surprisingly comfortable. Not much room for her leg, but she could cope. The knee felt a lot better now, after all. It was the first time she got to relax since… oh, never mind. She was tired, so endlessly ti…

Only when she was woken by the thud of a car door did she realise that she had fallen asleep. She looked around. She was still alone in the car, the seat beside her was empty. Yet something had changed… Oh dear, she had slept through the ride! Where were they, actually?

A noise close by had her turn back and look at her door. MacLeod was opening it. “Good morning,” he greeted her coolly as he waited for her to climb out again.

She emerged, a little painfully, and turned around. Oh, they were in front of Joe's again now! So that was where he wanted her to spend the night?

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


	5. RETURN OF UNEASE

Duncan reached for the young woman stepping out of his car, and guided her toward the bar.

All of a sudden, his cell phone rang. Holding the door open for her, he let the girl enter the bar alone. He decided Joe could give him a shout should she try to bolt. So he let the door close behind her and took the call. “Yes?”

“Duncan?” It was Anne. “Where are you right now?”

“At Joe's.”

Before he could continue, she went on hurriedly, “Can I meet you there? I'm just going off-duty and dying for a drink and some supper. I'll meet you there in twenty minutes, okay?” She hung up.

He looked at the cell-phone in his hands. Twenty minutes. Probably more, with the traffic around this time of the day. Could he dispose of Karen in that time? Or should he call back?

Anne had sounded upset. Better meet her and put her mind to rest. He put the phone in his pocket and went in to seek out Joe Dawson.

When half an hour later Anne arrived, Karen was in a back room with Joe, who had wanted a word with her rather badly. Duncan had stayed to wait for his current love, sitting at a table where the noise level would be bearable even if the band turned up their speakers.

“I need to talk to you,” Anne came to the point after a sip off her drink. “It's about that young woman you brought in, Karen Kowalski. I checked her medical record.” Dear Anne, constantly on the look-out for everyone else. Supportive and caring, and yet so fragile herself. She made him want to give her warmth, comfort, … Thus she usually brought out the tender and humorous side to himself. For that alone he owed her thanks.

He grinned and teased her more light-heartedly than he felt, “Don't tell me she has never been to the doctor's, either.”

His love remained serious, however. “No. She's currently in hospital. In New Jersey. With a broken arm and a concussion.” He was about to reply, but Anne's sweet, worried voice continued with deliberation. “I don't know who this is, but not Karen Kowalski.” She turned to look at him urgently. “Duncan, nobody noticed in the rush of patients today, but she's given us a very odd birth date: July 6th 1980\. Correct for the girl in New Jersey, but that one is not yet fifteen. I really don't know what to think, Duncan. She … She could be a psychiatric case or… I don't know,” she finished uncertainly.

“Don't worry, Anne. I'll take care of her. You get a nice dinner and then some sleep tonight. Okay?”

She sighed. “I'd better”, she conceded. “I've been missing out on sleep, as usual.”

He nodded. “So I noticed.” Of course, it was no wonder she had to work so hard at the moment. Hospitals were under particular strain, since the temperature had dropped like a piece of lead last week-end, only to rise again like a rocket.

On ice-covered streets there had been car accidents, people had fallen and broken bones. Many had not been prepared for the cold and had taken out the change in the form of frozen fingers or toes, while in the following warm spell there had been a wave of heart-attacks and the like…

He had seen things like this happen time and again in the past four centuries. The media had not changed them, they only shoved the deaths in your face after the fact, that was all.

Anne's dinner arrived; She had chosen a spinach-ham-and-onion pie, a specialty of the house. She inhaled the smell deeply, with her eyes closed. She looked cute and fragile, almost like a child. “Awesome!” Exhaling, she opened her eyes again and reached for her fork. “Where is she now, actually?”

Duncan had to jerk his mind back to the plump girl. “She's with Joe.”

Anne nodded. “If she stays with him, you should put him in the picture about her,” she counselled between bites.

“Do you think Karen's dangerous?”

Munching, she thought about it. Then she shook her head. “No. Not really. I think she's honest and well-meaning, only confused. On the other hand, if confusion grows into desperation, nobody can tell what's gonna happen.”

“So you think I should be kind of light on her?” He watched her reach for her glass and drink. Suddenly he realised where that peculiar turn of phrase came from. A Hemingway short-story. Not at all the kind of story that would put her mind to rest.

Luckily Anne didn't seem to recognise the words. “I guess so.”

“Do you mind if I look in on Joe for a moment?”

Her mouth full of pie, Anne just shook her head no and shooed him away with a gesture.

He found Joe alone. His concerned inquiry was answered calmly, “She had to go to the ladies' department.”

“How has it been going?”

“Good. She has filled in some of the blanks in your record. Nothing major, just little bits and pieces. If she isn't making this up, she knows some really odd things, you know. Things even the Watchers don't know. Can’t know.”

“Such as?”

“Did you see Kahani and Little Deer in the sky, reaching for you, during the quickening of their murderer?”

A sudden chill came over him. How was this possible? “Yes. I did.”

“Well, there you go.” They shared an uncomfortable look. At length Dawson sighed. “Brandy?”

Duncan nodded. Definitely appropriate after a shock like this.

They sat together, sipping their brandies in silence for a while. Then suddenly Duncan stood. “She's taking a bit long…”

Joe disagreed, “Not if you consider her condition. It's not easy with a tender knee. Not very different from prosthetics.” And where those were concerned, Joe spoke from experience.

“Perhaps you're right,” Duncan concurred uneasily. After all, he had seen enough injured men after the many battles he had been in. Even small injuries could hamper you and slow mortals down in the most unexpected manner. He told Joe about Anne's discovery, before he gave in to his disquiet. “I guess I'd better go look for her.”

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

It wasn't the knee any more that was keeping Karen from returning. Right now, it was Anne.

After finishing her dinner she had felt a natural call to the ladies' facilities and had met Duncan’s strange young friend there. Washing and drying their hands in turn, they had talked about the girl's injury and about physics, which Anne had loathed when studying but now found useful at times. Finally the conversation had turned toward the only obvious topic left: MacLeod.

Karen was saying evasively, “He has been very kind.”

“Yeah, Duncan can be very sweet.” Anne's tone was doubtful. “But sometimes I really don't know what to think. He's full of secrets…” She fell silent thoughtfully for but a moment, then continued with renewed doubt. “You two connect in a way I don't understand; I …” Anne stopped, knowing she had said too much already. She hadn't intended to betray her jealousy. Apparently she was too tired to even think!

Intelligent steel-blue eyes met her embarrassed stare. “Connect?” A sarcastically deprecating grin flashed. “What you saw is, Mr. MacLeod keeps making eye-contact, am I right?”

Too surprised to contradict, Anne thought back. Well, yes, her memory showed her Duncan doing exactly that; following the younger woman with his eyes as he moved. But what difference did that make, anyway?

“Mistrust, that's your ‘connection'.” Cooling down from her initial indignation, the girl's tone was turning more matter-of-fact. “Your boyfriend is keeping an eye on me because he doesn't trust me any further than he can see me.”

She sounded sincere. Even so Anne found herself making eye-contact because she still doubted the now calmed-down girl's words.

Again the steel-blue gaze met hers. “Like you are now,” Karen finished quietly.

Startled, Anne lowered her eyes. Was it that easy to see? Wow. She looked up again and replied with a simple compliment. “You're highly intelligent.”

“So are you.” With a wry grin the chubby blonde added, “Only for me it's all I got. Count your blessings. Because…” Suddenly the girl averted her gaze. “I honestly think you deserve them.” Her smile was a little sad as she nodded at Anne and retreated back into the main room of the bar. Anne watched her go, too stunned to answer or hold the limping girl back.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


	6. GOOD NIGHT. GOOD NIGHT?

As MacLeod stepped into the conundrum of the jam session beginning in the main room of the bar, his gaze immediately settled on the door of the ladies' bathroom. It was just opening to admit Karen. When he saw her melancholy expression, he stopped. A moment later she was limping past the stairs. Since she wasn't trying to run, MacLeod returned to the back-room unseen.

Closing the door, he met Joe's eyes: “Can I leave her here?”

Without a word his mortal friend nodded.

Duncan nodded back. They waited in silence until Karen entered. MacLeod held the door open for her, shot one more warning glance at his Watcher and left to seek out Anne.

He found her at the bar, where she was already paying her bill.

“You're leaving?” Duncan asked her gently.

“Yes. I got a call from a friend at the hospital about that donation for the children's ward. You know, the big one we got from this Kirin guy. She's got an idea for its use that she wants to discuss really urgently…” Anne gave an apologetic shrug.

“I understand.” He took her purse from the bar counter, handed it to Anne and put his arm around her. “I'll walk you to the car.”

On the way up the stairs, Anne briefly explained about the children's wing they were planning. Duncan was only listening with half an ear. His mind was still trying to figure out if she was in any danger from Cage. No, John Kirin. He must remember to call him Kirin around Anne.

As they reached Anne's car, he decided she'd be safe enough at her friend's place. Cage and his mortals wouldn’t find her there. Besides, she _LIKED_ Kirin, so she was not likely to get attacked. Not by the mortals, at any rate.

“I got to go. Andrea's waiting.” Anne smiled regretfully and kissed him. “I'm sorry.” She kissed him again, with a stronger hint of passion than before. “_REALLY_ sorry.”

Duncan wanted to return the kiss with enough fire to make her burn, but he restrained himself. Instead he merely closed his arms around her reassuringly firm body and stroked her cheek. Then he released her with a warm smile.

Taking the car keys from her purse, Anne detached herself from the tall Scot with obvious reluctance. “Good night, Duncan.”

“Good night,” he softly answered.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Meanwhile, Joe Dawson had abruptly confronted Karen, “How can it be that you are here, when a Karen Kowalski lies in a hospital in New Jersey with a concussion?”

Karen felt the blood draining from her face and her knees turning giddy all of a sudden. “What date is it?”

“February 15th.”

_Good heavens!_ “No, what year?”

He rolled his eyes impatiently. “1995. So? You've got some explaining to do, young lady,” Dawson rumbled.

She wasn't hearing him. “Oh, my G…” She shook her head in disbelief, staring at the floor with unseeing eyes. “Oh, my…” Again she, the girl with the sharp, eloquent tongue, couldn't so much as finish! Only just remembering he was there, she looked up at Dawson instead. “That's right, you know. I had an accident early in '95. Concussion, broken arm and a few smaller injuries. I fell off the library stairs in school.” Her head began to swim. “I had been reaching for Aristotle's book on physics.” She smiled, but the smile was superficial. She held on to the memory. It was like a solid straw in a sea of incomprehensible information coming at her, wave after wave. “Amazing stuff. I got to read it before I had to go back to school. And everyone was so nice to me…” Finally, the straw sank. “I was almost 15 then. I'm 20 now.”

Dawson remained as untrusting as before. “What are you trying to tell me?”

Her analytical mind found the words quite easily. “Parallel universes, remember? Ours are a few years adrift.” So easy to explain, yet utterly inexplicable.

This time his face registered mainly confusion. “They are what?”

“They don't have the same … er … position in time. They are five years or so apart.” Time. Just another dimension. So obvious, she should have expected this.

“Yeah, right.” Disbelieving again. “So you can tell me the future, or what?”

“I could. On some things.” A thought occurred to her: “If my presence hasn't changed them. The bat of a butterfly's wing and all that. You know.”

“What do I know?”

He didn’t know that famous quantum physics allegory? “Oh, never mind. I'm just saying that normally you wouldn't sit in here, with me. Because normally I – this version of me – would not be part of your universe. The only version of me that should have any chance of sitting here is the teenage one in New Jersey. But since I _AM_ here, my presence may have changed everything.”

“Alright, then,” Dawson began heavily, “so what would ‘normally' happen now?”

Resigning, she closed her eyes to call back the images from her video tapes. “MacLeod would go home, get himself a stiff drink and sit in one of his leather chairs. He'd hear a sound behind him. He'd tell the intruder to take the money on a side table and get lost. But it's Mathew. Duncan cracks a joke. Of course, Mathew knows nothing about immortality. So he tells Mac he's got some nerve joking around with a 38 trained on him. Something like that, at any rate. Mac tries to talk to him. Mathew's pretty confused and admits killing the reporter. He asks a lot of questions about Kirin, Cage, murdered children, the swords. To Mac's relief, Kirin turns up. He has called the police. But Kirin's no use. He makes a pretty bad job of talking to Mathew and gets shot. Mathew loses all hope and makes the police shoot him. Kirin starts a new life. End of episode. Only it's not gonna happen that way.”

“What a surprise,” Dawson rejoined, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“I asked Kirin to talk to Mathew. So no, certainly no surprise.” Her blue eyes met Joe Dawson's. “I had to try.”

This time he looked as if he honestly wanted to know. “Try what?”

“To save a life.”

“Mathew's? Didn't I hear you say he's a murderer?”

She nodded miserably. “Yes. I know. But I'm not a judge.” She looked up again. “I leave judging to those who are.”

“And Cage?”

She held his gaze. “Cage is dead already. Kirin lives. There's no point in judging Kirin.”

“Oh yes, there is.” Cursing, he reminded her Kirin was a murderer.

Quietly Karen responded, “So is Duncan MacLeod. And so will _YOU_ be.” After all, it was true. He would shoot his own brother-in-law, although she could not tell him that much. What she had uttered, however, had left Dawson stricken speechless anyhow. He looked into her eyes, then down at his hands. She watched him an instant longer before she relented, “At least, you will be in the series. But everything's different now, so there's no telling any more.”

Joe Dawson was clearly confused, as he muttered, “So what do we do now?”

Karen thought quickly. Was there really no way she could gain his trust? None at all? What about the Watchers? She breathed. “You take my picture.”

“Do I?”

“Yes, and then you send an inquiry to your friends. Have them check the records. They will find I'm no Watcher, no Immortal, … or whatever it is you think I am.”

His eyes narrowed. “Shouldn't I send them to New Jersey?”

Now it was Karen's turn to gape. Of course! “By all means!” If he saw the likeness, he'd believe her, wouldn't he? “Make sure they take a picture.”

Joe obviously decided to risk it. He took a Polaroid, scanned it and, carefully turning the laptop so Karen couldn't see him type in his password, sent it on its way. Of course, the guy had reason to be mistrustful. Still, did he have to be so obvious about it?

She sighed. _Okay, so far, so good. Now what next?_ She asked Dawson.

“Now we wait.” He looked at the door.

“How long does it take, by your estimate?”

He shrugged. “A day or two. It depends.”

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


	7. RE-SOLUTION

After Anne had driven off, Duncan MacLeod had gone straight to his flat. If the girl was right, Mathew would be there now. He remembered him: medium-sized rat-faced little blighter. Unsteady eyes. Very aggressive. At least, he had been pretty aggressive toward the reporter.

At home, Duncan waited and waited. Mathew didn't turn up. At length he decided to go back and check with Dawson.

He found Joe and Karen at the bar. The room was full of cheering people enjoying the jam session. At the moment Joe was busy filling glasses, Karen was putting dirty crockery into the tiny dish-washer. Duncan caught Joe's eye, nodded toward the back-room and went there.

A moment later, Dawson joined him. He told MacLeod about the photo.

“What did you tell them?”

“That I'd seen her around you and had a hunch she might be mentioned in our files. If nothing turns up, I'll ask someone to go take a look at the girl in New Jersey.”

“Smart idea. – No, I'll do that. And I'd better take the girl there.”

Joe nodded slowly. “That should get us something to work with.”

After a long moment of comfortably shared silence, MacLeod asked, “What do you think? Is she dangerous?”

“If she is, she’s an amazingly good actress.”

MacLeod nodded in agreement. “And she’d go to great lengths: The injured knee is real enough. But she could still belong to Cage. Better safe than sorry, Joe.”

“I will be, Mac.” He shrugged and limped toward the door. “Guess I should go and keep an eye on her.”

Duncan promised he’d be back early the next morning to fetch the girl, and they left the backroom.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

When MacLeod returned at 7 a.m., Karen was so tired she could hardly keep her eyes open. On the upside, her knee seemed to be in much better shape. She could walk up the stairs almost painlessly and felt exceedingly grateful for that fact.

Even so MacLeod opened the car door for her before sitting in the driver’s seat. Karen watched him start the car. Although his familiar features wore a stern expression again this morning, she wasn’t as scared as she had been most of the day before. Perhaps it was the hope she put into this trip to her junior self. Or maybe she was just getting used to his aura of subtle menace.

He looked at her for a moment. While he returned his gaze to the street, he asked “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Hmmm,” he nodded, utterly unconvinced. “Which nothing?” The car took a turn, now heading for the highway. Houses, parked SUVs and a park flew by. “So?” the Immortal insisted on an answer.

Karen breathed. Embarrassing as it was, she had to find words for it. “I … I know you really well, after a fashion. And now that I get to meet you, I don’t understand why I ever wanted to.” She hesitated briefly. That hadn’t been very polite, had it? “You don’t live in a very comfy world.”

“Just how well do you know me?”

Briefly pondering the question, she exhaled audibly through her nostrils. “I know more about you than about me, in a way… I can't replay _MY _ life to get my memories straight.”

“What do you mean, get your memories straight?”

Without thinking she let loose one of her typical acerbic remarks. “I don’t know about you guys, but mortal memories are subject to change, loss and haziness.”

MacLeod, however, seemed perfectly solemn when he concluded, “Then they are different from ours. Our memories remain crystal clear.”

“Really? Oh, wow,” Karen was stunned. It made sense, though. For a while she mulled over this new piece of information in silence. As she did so, she fell asleep.

Half an hour later, they arrived at the airport.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

MacLeod contemplated the plump blonde in the passenger seat for a moment. This was the second time she had fallen asleep in his car. The spark of mistrust glowed in him yet again. Was she really that exhausted? That trusting? Or was she pretending to be trusting?

He sighed. Oh well, they needed to get going. He touched Karen’s shoulder, and she woke with a start. A pretty convincing one. Maybe he was becoming paranoid.

Aside from his own backpack he had brought some clothes for Karen in an extra bag. He was carrying it in his left hand and supporting the girl with the right arm. As they made their way to the gate, he pondered her behaviour again. So far, she hadn’t complained a single time, even when she was in pain. She had gone out of her way to be nice to Anne. Why?

Well, perhaps it was a matter of not biting the hand that fed her… Yes, maybe he was paranoid. Still, better paranoid than dead.

The flight gave him more time to watch and analyse the girl beside him. The closer they got to New Jersey, the more elated she appeared to be. At the same time the undercurrent of fear in her almost frantic chattering renewed his doubt. What was Karen hoping for so desperately?

On arrival MacLeod rented a car. While his travel companion went to the loo (oops, they didn’t use that expression anymore, did they?), he asked for directions. Little later they were driving off.

“Turn left here,” Karen told him without prompting. Her instructions were clear, precise and well timed. She never told him to turn a corner at the last minute. All this kind of confirmed her claim that she lived here. But not her identity. Or her credibility.

Either way, albeit supplemented by anecdotes, her instructions didn’t differ too much from the directions MacLeod had obtained earlier. At any rate, they arrived at the hospital safely and speedily enough.

“So what happens now?” the girl inquired as the rented car came to a halt in front of the hospital.

He gave her the steely look the question deserved. “I’m going to see Karen Kowalski.” In acknowledgement of her hesitation, he added, “And since I’m going, so are you.”

“If you still don’t trust me, why don’t you tie me up in here?”

“Because the first passer-by would untie you and collar me?” he retorted snidely.

She briefly snickered, then apologized, “Sorry, I hadn’t thought.” Without much hope in her voice she asked, “How about the car trunk?”

Time to put a stop to that silly game. “Why don’t you want to come up with me?”

Impatience showed on her dull features. “Don’t you know the first thing about time travel?”

“I thought it was parallel universes, not time travel.” Obviously he had made Karen reconsider. Good.

She looked up. “It might work if we claimed I was some distant relative of mine on a genealogy trip.” She shrugged miserably.

He didn’t think much of her plan, but he nodded, anyway. “Then it’s agreed.” One look at the girl would most likely prove or disprove Karen’s story. No need for a complicated excuse, especially not for a girl with a concussion of the brain.

They got out of the car and MacLeod took her arm again. He wasn’t about to let her attempt an escape.

Suddenly Karen stopped in her tracks, motioning for him to back up. Instinctively he dove into cover behind a large blue SUV. “That’s Johnny!” Karen whispered urgently. She pointed at a gangly youth entering the hospital. “My boyfriend!”

MacLeod had enough of her stories. “All the better.” Grimly he gripped her arm harder and pulled her forward. “Then he can confirm your identity.”

“No! He was my boyfriend when I was 14.”

“I get the picture,” he curtly replied. “Come on.”

They entered the hospital in irritable silence. Karen led the way into the elevator and on through a corridor. Having looked sideways into a room, she stopped without warning. Duncan almost bumped into her.

“The b…!” she almost cursed in a barely contained whisper, only with an effort restraining her obvious fury, and settling on a venomous “…brat!” Duncan followed her gaze. The gangly youth was in there, making out with a young nurse. Her eyes ablaze, Karen was filling her lungs. What, to shout at the boy?

Swiftly placing his palm across her mouth, Duncan pushed her back against the wall beside the door, out of sight. “Pull yourself together!” he ordered angrily, his voice as low as he could manage. He was _NOT_ going to let her stage a scene with some stranger, just so she could stop Duncan from meeting the real Karen Kowalski. No way. “You stay here.”

At her nod he released her – after all, she couldn’t outrun him anyhow – and went to the open door. He knocked. “Excuse me? Can you tell me where to find Karen Kowalski?”

The boy blanched visibly. “Yeah, ummm … she’s next door.” He pointed towards the adjoining room.

Since he couldn’t very well ask if the youth was her boyfriend, MacLeod thanked him. He returned to the corridor, where a steaming Karen was still pressed against the wall. Wordlessly he took her arm and led his unwilling escort to the next door. He knocked and made Karen enter the room first.


	8. KAREN, MEET KAREN

“Hi.” Karen’s greeting sounded shy and insecure, although she didn’t look it.

“Hi,” came the echo from inside. Their voices were identical, so far as he could tell, except that the one coming from the hospital bed was tired and slightly muffled.

And then the girl in the bed finished turning around and lifted the long ash-blonde mess of her hair away from her face.

“This is really weird … I think I'm going to be sick.” The older Karen disappeared into the bathroom, her younger version staring after her.

“Uh… What’s up?”

Duncan caught himself staring at the teenager and commented, “Boy, you two really look uncannily alike!”

“Yeah, guess so,” the young girl agreed with a decided lack of enthusiasm. Well, small wonder, in view of her concussion. She was probably suffering a horrible headache.

MacLeod had seen enough. High time he improvised so they could beat a retreat. “Look, we didn’t mean to disturb you. It’s just that I was told she” – he pointed toward the bathroom – “had a look-alike in here, and we had a bet between us that you weren’t alike at all.” He smiled. “Guess I’ve lost.” Now he made his smile more apologetic. “Sorry we woke you.”

The girl turned him her exhausted back and her upper body plopped down on the bed again. She moaned, wrapping an arm around her head. Obviously the concussion was indeed taking its toll on her. “’S’alright. Bye.” A sloppy hand waved good-bye.

Phew. That had been close.

Duncan went into the bathroom, where Karen had indeed relieved herself into the lavatory. She was already flushing everything down, but the stench of gastric acid still filled the tiny room. He gave her a moment to rinse her mouth before he dragged her out into the corridor.

At last they sat in the car again.

Duncan leaned back and retrieved one of the two water bottles he had placed in the back seat area before leaving the airport. He handed it to Karen and reclined in his seat as he waited patiently for her to finish drinking.

She placed the bottle between her knees. Then he found himself pierced by unhappy blue eyes. “Do you trust me now?” She put the cap back on the bottle.

“Within reasonable limits,” he grinned.

She sighed and thought about his answer. Resignation in her voice, she conceded, “Fair enough.”

When after a while he still hadn’t started the car, the young woman gazed at him again. She seemed to be looking for words and finding none.

That gave him an idea: “I want you to do something for me.”

She nodded, her eyes resting on him.

“Show me your inner sanctum.” At her puzzled look he elaborated, “The secret place you went to when you were sad or wanted to be alone. The hide-out no-one knows about.”

“So you’re still probing and testing. I thought you trusted me?”

“I said, within reasonable limits. My world isn’t ‘comfy’ enough for that to go a long way. Help me trust you.”

She closed her eyes and shook her head. “Look into your heart. You know you can trust me. If it makes you feel better, fine, I’ll take you there. Only…” Her blue eyes challenged him. “What if I led you into an ambush?”

She was trying for shock tactics? Okay, he could retaliate. He let his eyes confirm his dry promise, “Then you’d be the first to die.”

She looked away, swallowed and met his gaze yet again. “Then let’s go.”

Yes, it was true. In his heart he knew he could trust her. Duncan started the car. “You have brains,” he commented conversationally, as he swung the car into the street.

“My only worthwhile asset.” She sounded bitter.

MacLeod shook his head in denial. “That’s not true.”

“Oh, of course, and good hair. At least I had that … well, back then.” She gestured back at the hospital. “Mac…” It was like an electrical shock to hear her use his nickname so casually. Apparently she noticed his reaction. “Really, MacLeod, there’s no need to be kind. I’ve lived with … with being me for two decades. I’m used to it. The Reubens[1] fashion is over, I know that. It’s just that Johnny…”

He glanced at her, interrupting her cynical chatter. “No, listen. You’re honest. That is a worthwhile asset. Even with a sharp tongue like yours.”

“Don’t forget the unfortunate timing,” she reminded him dryly.

Taken by surprise, he laughed.

“No, not that way,” she suddenly said. This time her instructions took them out of the town centre and into a suburb with empty roads and clean, lush gardens covered in snow.

“Where are we going?” MacLeod inquired.

“Why, to the ambush, of course!” Her tone changed. “My grandparents live here. There’s a little river nearby. My secret place here was between the bushes along the river.”

At a decorously low speed they went on. Close to a bridge they got out of the car. “It’s right over there,” Karen pointed, already leading the way into a meadow covered in powdery-soft white flakes.

Duncan held her back. “No, this is close enough.”

“It’s okay. I’ve thought about it. Even if I haven’t been there, I know the island and Darius’ church and … several places you’ve lived in over the centuries. It’s only fair.”

“No,” he smiled. “The cottage and the church are sanctuaries, not my inner sanctum. I suppose even Joe has no idea where that is.”

“It’s inside you.” The sentence hit his solar plexus, and the next one drove the shock home. “The katas take you there.”

She wasn’t right, of course. But dashed close. “No, there is an actual inner sanctum. Only I haven’t been there in … oh, in ages.” He shook his head thoughtfully. “A sanctuary gives me time to deal with problems and myself. The inner sanctum relieves me of either.”

Her eyebrows furrowed. “How?”

He just looked at her and went back to the car. He had already said more than he had intended.

Returning home, McLeod and Karen met Richie, who had kept an eye on the dojo. Upon asking, Richie said that Mathew had not returned. Duncan had a visitor, though, the young Immortal informed him.

At first Duncan only felt the “buzz”, the strangely physical sense of danger that announced one Immortal to another. Of course he knew who it must be. In a moment, a mop of greying blond hair would enter his field of vision…

His expectations clear-cut, Duncan’s imagination played a cruel trick on him. Before his mind’s eye he saw the face of a child with dark hair. The chubby face of a small Cambodian girl in a dark-blue pullover and skirt…

_<[Cambodia, 1975]_

#### They had been fleeing from the Khmer Rouge for days. Duncan had guided the nun and her little herd of children here, away from their boarding school at Sister Margaret’s orphanage. Right now, however, it looked as if all his efforts had been in vain. The plane that had been waiting for them had been broken in two, the pilot brutally killed.

#### For but a few moments there had been another glimmer of hope, in the form of Cage’s chopper. But the helicopter was chock-full of heroin, and Cage was not ready to dump any of it for the sake of the children’s lives.

#### Duncan had tried to hold him back, and now one of Cage’s henchmen was aiming his gun at the little flock of children hiding behind the nun.

#### Glancing at the children sideways, Duncan saw the little girl. Her skirt was dirty from running across the fields in their flight, but the stark white shirt beneath the pullover stood out, making her an even easier mark. And then Kirin smiled, and Duncan saw the hope in the girl’s face die like a candle’s flame in a strong wind.

#### Renewing his efforts, Duncan dove at Cage – and was shot. All went dark around him.>

Yes, it was Cage. A hardly recognizable Cage. His hair was now short and dyed to a dark-brown with greying sideburns that added a curiously sophisticated touch.

“Mathew killed him,” Richie explained. “In front of half the ashram. I said he could stay till you’re back,” he went on him diffidently. “I hope that’s okay?”

Cage chimed in, “I'm so sorry. I didn't know where else to go.”

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“Yeah, being a do-gooder has its disadvantages,” Karen quipped. “They know you too well on the streets.”

MacLeod’s eyes narrowed, and abruptly he turned to her. “What can you tell me about John Kirin?”

She held his gaze as she pondered the question. “That parts of his script were crap.” All three Immortals looked clueless. “All that whining about those Cambodian children... Yeah, for some reason the sight of a few small graves did change him, but if that doesn’t sound like inconsistent crap, I don’t know what does.”

“Is that how you think about my past?” Kirin was aghast.

Karen turned to him and her sardonic tone softened. “Think, yes.” She smiled. “Feel, no.” By his look, he obviously did not understand a word. It didn’t matter, anyhow. What mattered was the present. “My brains don’t trust you. My heart does.”

“Stick with your brains,” MacLeod advised coolly. “Because if your female intuition should be wrong,” he fixed Kirin with angry eyes, “you couldn’t outrun even an out-of-shape man with that leg of yours.”

“Mac,” Richie intervened, “don’t.”

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

[1] Peter Paul Reubens, also known as Peter Paul Rubens, born 1577, died 1640, is today mainly known as a Baroque painter from the Netherlands, although he was also a diplomat. True to the Baroque fashion, chubby women were a favourite subject of his paintings. A certain amount of weight in porcelain-white skin was the epitome of beauty in his time, it is widely believed. (Science claims that may not be true, though).


	9. CONSEQUENCES

Duncan shot him a questioning look.

“I did some checking. All the donations _DID_ go into charity for the poor. He kept just enough to maintain the ashram.” The young Immortal shrugged. “No scam. No fraud. Just a completely straightforward…”

“It doesn’t matter,” Cage’s raspy voice interrupted him all of a sudden. “Even if he believes you, it won’t change his mind. When we last met, MacLeod wasn’t going to judge me for the present, but for my past.” Sad eyes met Duncan’s wary gaze. “I can’t take back what I’ve done. I can’t change the past.”

No, the past hadn’t changed by a hair’s breadth. A murderer was a murderer for life, with or without a bad conscience. “Then let’s go,” Duncan growled and nodded toward the door.

Was what Karen had said true? Would Cage (or Kirin?) suffer himself to be judged? He went to the door readily enough…

When the girl started to follow Duncan, he turned to Richie: “Make sure she stays here.”

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Suddenly a notion hit Karen like a brick in the chest: This might be her one chance of returning to her own universe. And she was being denied that chance… “No!” she exclaimed and started to run after them as fast as her much improved knee would allow.

Kirin was already leaving the dojo in measured strides, but MacLeod turned around once more. His sombre look sufficed to stop her and leave her panting in the middle of the dojo. He was going to do it. _Good Lord, help!_ He was going to do it! “Don’t kill him,” she pleaded, her hope already fading to dust. She felt Richie’s hand heavily on her shoulder. She wasn’t sure whether or not he approved of what MacLeod was about to do, but he sure wouldn’t let her interfere.

In silence, MacLeod’s eyes told her that this was not for her to decide. The tall man left without another word. A heavy knot of uncried tears in her throat, Karen followed Richie Ryan to the elevator.

Arriving in the comfortable apartment above a few moments later, the young Immortal retreated to the kitchen. (Unlikely though it seemed, Richie was barely older than Karen.) She could feel him keep an eye on her while he prepared tea. After a while he returned with a tray of tea and biscuits that he set down on a low table in the living room. He offered Karen a seat on the big sofa near the centre of the room and settled on a chair by its side. “Help yourself.” He gestured vaguely at the table.

Karen wasn’t hungry. Her appetite had left her as soon as she’d entered MacLeod’s universe, it seemed. She was not really thirsty, either, but out of courtesy she poured herself a cup of tea even so. She dumped her weight on the sofa, shed her shoes, pulled her legs up, put her arms around her knees and rested her chin on them. In this position she stayed, mentally taking note of the improvement in the injured joint, and watched the elevator.

That is, she faced it. Soon she wasn’t really seeing it anymore, though. Instead, she was brooding.

Contrary to what she remembered from the series, Richie Ryan did not seem inclined to babble. In fact, he appeared to be waiting for her to speak first. Only she couldn’t think of anything that needed to be said. So she merely sipped tea and stared ahead of her.

Time was passing slowly, so slowly. Karen remembered about the stupid idea she’d had earlier, that Kirin’s Quickening might propel her back into … Wait. Kirin’s Quickening. There shouldn’t be any Quickening! If Kirin died, then it was because of her! It was her fault. She had failed to even out the effects of her presence…

And it sealed her fate, if anything did. This universe would be her prison. She would never go home. Would never be able to wipe the stain of Kirin’s death from her conscience. Would never again laugh as lightly as she used to.

Karen nearly fell over when a familiar voice said from behind her, “You were right. He _WAS_ ready to let me judge him.” By the end of the first sentence she was already standing, panting and facing MacLeod. The tall Immortal went to the kitchen and started cutting up oranges into neat, slim pies. Over his shoulder, he told them that Kirin was leaving town.

Karen sat on the sofa heavily. She would have liked to say good-bye to the Immortal, but her relief at his being alive outweighed the regret by far, of course.

A few moments later MacLeod returned to the sofa with a plate full of orange pies. He took one, bent both ends back and bit on it.

“Did you take his hand?” Karen asked.

An amused Duncan watched her attentively. “What do you think?”

“I think you did.”

He just smiled.

“What’s he gonna do now?” Richie inquired.

“I gave him Benny Carbassa’s address,” Duncan grinned.

Karen broke into laughter, at which a surprised Richie asked, “You know him?”

“Not personally,” Karen answered, wondering if MacLeod had told him about the parallel universes angle.

“The guy’s a hoot, as long as you get rid of him in under two days. You know, he talks like he’s been with them all, …” He launched into an anecdote.

Since MacLeod appeared to be finally starting to relax around Karen, the conversation was a lot more comfortable than any in the past two days. In fact, they got along quite well, hitting many more interesting topics than she would ever have hoped. Mac told them background stories about people Richie had mentioned, they talked about the way society had changed, about dancing… Since each of them contributed a different point of view to the chat, there wasn’t a dull moment.

Suddenly Karen realised that it was growing dark outside, and her gut was rumbling. Ah, so the hunger wasn’t completely gone.

“We’d better fix some dinner, Mac,” Richie observed. He got up. “I’ll … uh …” He glanced at Karen, obviously deciding to use a little more refined vocabulary, “… refresh myself, then I’ll give you a hand, right?”

As soon as he had left the room, Karen turned to her host. “Does he know? About me?”

MacLeod shook his head, “I didn’t get a chance to tell him.” He stood from his chair and sat beside her. “Karen. The real question is not so much what _HE_ knows, but what story you’re going to tell anyone else.”

Alas, now her beautifully light-hearted mood was gone. True,” she conceded unhappily. Why did he have to ask what past she intended to invent for herself just now? “And what life I should live, and where.” Couldn’t he have waited with reminding her of her worries till tomorrow? “All that’s been bothering me for some time, only I didn’t have much time to really think about it.”

The Immortal smiled. “You had to concentrate on staying alive first.”

“Yeah, that pretty much sums it up.”

MacLeod nodded, “I know I made it difficult for you.” She wanted to say that at least he’d given her a chance, but the Scot went on, “I’d like to make up for that. It’s not an easy task to build an existence from scratch. You’ll need my help.”

“That’s…” Actually, it was beyond any words Karen had to offer. She turned to face him so the man could as least read in her eyes what she was feeling. “Thank you.”

“Right!” Richie’s voice made her jump. He had obviously just returned from the lavatory all the more eager to get some food into his stomach. “Shall we?”

MacLeod rose, went over to the younger Immortal and gently cuffed his arm. “Yup. Come on. You peel the potatoes. – Ah, Karen? Could you turn on the TV? The news should be on now.”

Karen was surprised to hear the Immortal even owned a TV set. Her eyes scanned the room more thoroughly and still encountered nothing even remotely resembling a screen.

Richie ran over and opened a cabinet, thus revealing not only a TV set, but a laptop, a VCR and several smaller devices she couldn’t see properly at this distance. Richie stepped back, remote control in hand, and put on the news. Then he returned to MacLeod, who had pulled a bag of potatoes from a sideboard and now handed it to the younger Immortal.

“Can I help, too?” Karen asked.

With a broad smile, Richie held out the potato bag for her. “They’re all yours for the taking.”

While Karen set to work, MacLeod went over to one of the rooms that the series had never shown. It appeared to be the pantry, for he returned carrying something green and a wooden plate with several cheeses. One of them was covered in an evil-looking blue-ish something. The green stuff turned out to be a bunch of fresh herbs. Out of the corner of her eye Karen could see him cut them at a disquieting speed. She couldn’t see what Richie was doing, because he was behind her back, but she heard water running. Maybe he was washing salad or something. Next MacLeod selected a cheese – one of the less suspicious ones, she was glad to note – and grated it.

Suddenly he stopped in mid-motion. From the TV, the name “John Kirin” had drifted over. Richie turned off the water and was still. All three of them listened intently to the news’ version of Cage’s death. As soon as the report was over, the announcer promised a longer one to follow in a few moments. Nobody spoke.

MacLeod finished grinding and came over to help Karen get the potatoes peeled, cut and blanched.

While they listened on, the kitchen filled with the smell of stir-fried potatoes and melting cheese. Finally, MacLeod added the herbs, took the pan from the oven and carried it over to the wooden table in the kitchen that Richie had laid neatly by now.

At last the news were over. Karen went over to the TV set. As she leaned forward to push the power button, she felt giddy and a little sick. The floor came closer and closer, it slapped her face and body … everything went black.

_Oh, glory!_ To drop on the floor like that, in front of those two hunks! She stood and reached for the power button of the TV set. She’d have to tell them about her low blood-pressure and reassure them, or MacLeod would…

_Wait. _

Her hand was hovering over the off-button. The off-button of her TV set. Her own TV set. In her own room._ I am…_She was back home, wasn’t she?


	10. BACK TO NORMAL?

She went over to her calendar. What year? 2000. Well, thank goodness for that! Yes, she was back home. In her own time, in her own place.

_I suppose that thesis on wormholes simply added up with watching TV_, she forced herself to think logically._ The combination sure made for very interesting dreams!_

That was that, then. She sat on the sofa. _Hmmmm…_It_ WAS _odd, though. She had never had a dream as detailed as that. At least, her memory of it had never been that detailed.

She prodded her knee. It felt ok. She moved it. Yes, it was fine. But then, it had already been fine near the end of the dream. That didn’t prove anything at all. Besides, she had fallen. Even if the knee had been hurt, it could have been because of the fall. _Come to think of it_, had she suffered any damage? She moved her joints, felt her forehead, even checked her watch – yes, that too was still working.

Finally, hesitantly, she touched the skin beneath her chin.

Her fingertips encountered a rough patch. She ran to the bathroom and with some effort managed to get a peek at it in the mirror. A tiny wound, now scabbed over. Maybe, just maybe, cut by a dragon-head katana two days ago…

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End file.
